


From This Moment On

by Alley_Skywalker



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Екатерина | Catherine (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 13:52:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7937173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/pseuds/Alley_Skywalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brockdorff's arrival in St. Petersburg is somewhat more emotional than he had prepared himself for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From This Moment On

Distracted by a painting of a tall, handsome man with wild black hair, a firm gaze and a royal sash, Brockdorff has his back to them when they come in. 

“You Highness, this is highly irregular. A merchant—what foolishness! What if it is some kind of plo—“ 

“Enough, Alexander Ivanovich. You see plots everywhere.” 

Brockdorff freezes as soon as the voices become clear and the footfalls stop. He can feel the sudden jump in his heartrate, the way his feet suddenly seem glued to the floor. He ought to turn around, to bow to the Grand Duke. To ask—to say…something. But suddenly, a dozen arguments with a dozen people and a half-hour-long wait for an audience too late, he is coming to understand that he is not prepared for this. He has not had a letter from Peter in so long, has not seen him in longer. So many things could have changed… 

There is an impatient cough behind him. Then, in Peter’s half-amused, half-annoyed tone that is painfully familiar, “You wished to see me?”

Hardly daring to breath, Brockdorff turns to face the men across the gallery. 

There is a strange moment of relief when he realizes that Peter has hardly changed. He is somewhat taller, dressed in finer fabrics, his hair a touch longer, but at this distance Brockdorff could swear he is almost no different from the day they parted. He watches Peter’s face with some anxiety, waiting for the recognition to sink in. 

Finally, almost confused, Peter manages to say his name – more a question than a statement. The man standing beside him glares disapprovingly, obviously discomforted by the fact that he does not know who exactly Brockdorff is, or perhaps because he had been given a different name. 

Brockdorff attempts a smile for Peter’s sake. “I told you I would come.” 

Another second, a spark—and Peter’s expression melts into a smile. He runs across the gallery and Brockdorff closes the last couple of paces between them in one long stride, sweeping Peter up into his arms. 

He most certainly had not been prepared for this. Back in Holstein he had planned and plotted, imagined this moment, waited for letters and despaired when they did not come, cried the night they had taken Peter away – but somehow he had managed to convince himself that there was nothing abnormal about such feelings. His mother had wrinkled her nose at him, his sister had teased him mercilessly, and his father had sighed sadly, but all of this had seemed like foolishness to Brockdorff back home. All he had known was that he had made a promise to his Prince, his best friend, to join him in the far off country he was destined to some day rule. A promise he intended to keep. 

But they had been practically children when Brockdorff had made that promise. Now they are…older. And Brockdorff, cautiously, with his usual contempt for hasty conclusions, thinks he can finally put a word to all his feelings. With Peter back in his arms, it is practically undeniable. If he had doubted at a distance, he could never doubt when they are this close. It’s frightening but almost a relief: _How fine it is to love so deeply that it is almost second nature_ – a line from some play that had stayed with him despite its sentimental mediocrity. 

Peter steps away from him, eyes wide. “I really didn’t think you would come. Auntie confiscates my foreign mail…”

“Of course I came.” How could he not? _You are my Prince. My life._

“Come, I must show you something.“ Peter makes a small gesture, as though to take Brockdorff’s hand, but stops himself and waves instead, pivoting and walking back down the gallery, fully expecting Brockdorff to follow him. As they come level with Shuvalov, Peter says, triumphantly. “See, Alexander Ivanovich? Why don’t you put the entire guard on alert next time then?” 

“I had no way of knowing you knew this man, Your Highness,” Shuvalov says primly. 

“Well, I do.” Peter is hardly annoyed, Brockdorff notices. “For reference, this is Baron von Brockdorff. My chamberlain.” Without waiting for an answer, he keeps walking and Brockdorff follows. 

At the first set of double doors, Peter turns and looks back at him, a giddy, excited smile playing across his face. Brockdorff shivers even as he smiles back. Peter’s nonchalance is both reassuring and disorienting. Everything is just as it had been at home. But also so very, very different.


End file.
